


Winter Collection

by bipalium



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Alcohol, Blood and Injury, Bloody Makeouts, Drunk Singing, M/M, Medic can't resist the slut commander, Reunions, Shooting Guns, Smooching in the med bay, Soft soviet guys being dudes, Thirst and satiety, water splashing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-20
Updated: 2018-02-25
Packaged: 2019-03-21 20:43:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 1,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13748892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bipalium/pseuds/bipalium
Summary: A collection of drabbles based on fanart for MGS Winter Games 2018





	1. bbkaz

**Author's Note:**

> artwork: http://crowthis.tumblr.com/post/165034580295/seehang-karaoke-night

The room is stale with sweat and alcohol reek. It’s loud, packed, hot. You roll off your damp jacket just to keep busy and shield yourself from meaningful glances.

Kaz is up on the makeshift stage, his ascot tied around his head – must be some Japanese tradition. Paz has retreated for good, probably realized that the drunk commander wasn’t up to a rehearsal. Embracing guitar like one of his many women, Kaz drawls in a nasal, _terrible_ voice:

_I want you, the right way_

_I want you_

_But I want you to want me, too_

_I want you to want me, Boss_

_Just like I want you_

It’s damn _embarrassing_. Soldiers start nudging your sides, grinning. You bury your face in your palm. No, you aren’t blushing because of that idiot, it’s just really hot in here.

“Boss! C’mere!” Kaz yells to you, the widest smile plastered on his flushed face.

You stare at him with a cold eye. Okay, maybe just for one song, you’ll go. But only if it won’t be so vulgar. 


	2. bosselot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> artwork: http://cheekyposelenets.tumblr.com/post/164052586950/for-some-event

They say snakes love water. Depends on a kind, but the sultry air of the jungle just calls for a refreshing splash.

Unbelievable as it is, Snake is smiling. Not only that; he brings his hand to his chest, rubbing his tan skin. Dirt and blood wash away with streams of water, and he arches his spine, exposing himself for more. Asking for it.

Ocelot is frozen on the spot, staring at his rival – or friend? – enjoying the coolness of water. Snake’s chest heaves, he makes a throaty noise that sends shivers down Ocelot’s spine. It’s _hot_ , and becomes only hotter when Snake opens his mouth, water drops shining on his lips.

“Once you’ve showered, we'll continue where we left off,” Ocelot says, feeling his mouth dry. Runs his tongue across his lips. 

Snake grins, stroking his sculpted abdomen and Ocelot can’t fight a blush that creeps up his face.


	3. bbmedic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> artwork: http://ironfries.tumblr.com/post/135317485471/112506-v%E1%B4%87%E1%B4%87-%E1%B5%80%E1%B4%B4%E1%B4%B1-%E1%B4%BA%E1%B4%AC%E1%B4%BF%E1%B4%BF%E1%B4%AC%E1%B5%80%E1%B4%BC%E1%B4%BF-i-know-a-title

Medic knows his professional boundaries well. In the med bay, anyone who turns up with an injury is a patient. A patient he must patch up first and foremost.

That’s what he tells himself as Boss’s arms lock around his middle, pulling him closer.

“Don’t move,” Medic says, concentrated. Blood is seeping through the fresh bandage around Boss’s head. He has numerous cuts awaiting treatment, there might be an infection, too.

His hands freeze for a moment, thumbs circling around Medic’s hipbones through his fatigues. Who can work in such conditions?

“Boss, you ought to sit still,” Medic warns and meets electric gaze of a single sharp eye. It’s prying, overpowering. Medic gulps, feeling fingers hooking over the rim of his pants.

Boss smells like a beast. His giant arms wrap around Medic’s back, strangling him in a strong embrace. It’s no joke; his knee rubs between Medic’s legs, his lips open and Medic can see blood on his teeth. Blood of his enemies it is.

And he surrenders, melting into a hungry, ravishing kiss. Boss fondles him, gropes, undoing his pants and palming Medic’s half-hard cock. His head is buzzing; Boss’ tongue tastes like steel and gunpowder. Medic’s fingers rake through coarse hair, he jerks his hand away realizing that his gloves are stained with blood.

“Relax,” Boss growls against his mouth. “That’s an order.”


	4. vkaz

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> artwork: http://eridz.tumblr.com/post/132864108274/although-he-doesnt-pull-the-trigger

The air is knocked out of Venom’s lungs with a strong push. His head hits the floor, blue circles pulsing in front of his eyes.

From behind the glaring barrel of a gun, Hell Master drills him with murdering eyes. Although dull for years, they ooze malice. Pure spite. His prosthesis wheezes: no wonder he managed to jump at Venom so fast with these enhancements.

“Is this how you greet old friends, Kaz?”

The grip on the gun hardens.

“You are not my friend,” Kaz hisses. His hair has grown long, face punctured with barely-there wrinkles, but it’s still notable how much he’s aged. How long has it been, ten years?

“Did Big Boss send you after me?” Kaz asks in a voice that sounds metallic. Alien.

His foot presses tighter to Venom's solar plexus. It’s hard to breathe; the surroundings start to spin in front of his eyes. Only the black muzzle is sharp and real.

Venom wishes for another outcome: a cold greeting, a cup of lukewarm coffee, a cannonade of obscenities – anything but this. The warmth of Kaz’s tense body is so familiar it hurts. But their sunny days on Seychelles are long since over.

Grasping Kaz’s calf, Venom gazes at the man he loves and who once loved him back. Was it real? Was anything real? He doesn’t know. Closing his eye, Venom lets out a breath.

He just wanted to see him again. One last time.

A single shot tears the silent calmness of Alaskan night.


	5. mkaz

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> artwork: http://klingoni.tumblr.com/post/145361587434/my-twitter-is-a-mkaz-hell-lately

Just another cup of coffee. His hands are jittery, no good for giving injections. Thank god most of the patients are already asleep.

Commander Miller said he’ll drop by in the morning.

It’s a tough night that doesn’t end. All-night shifts are usually easy for him, but not today. His eyelids are heavy, head buzzing. He should check his blood pressure.

_“Hey, Medic!” Miller calls with a playful grin, peeking into the ward._

He smiles at the warmth spreading in his stomach. A chilly draft gushes in and he shivers in his far from fresh fatigues. A shower would be damn good. One of the soldiers starts snoring and soon another joins in. What a discordant choir.

_“I’ve hurt my hand.” Miller jerks his head up. So dramatic. His fair eyelashes flutter under the ever-present aviators. Medic holds his fingers like something fragile. His skin is so smooth, bronze and warm. There isn’t a single scratch on it. Medic fights the urge to squeeze his hand and press his lips to Commander’s knuckles._

The wind is howling outside, raindrops knocking against the roof of the tent. Just three more hours. He picks up a book just to hold onto something; letters don’t form words in his blurred vision.

_“I was lifting crates,” Miller says and hops down the cot. His blue eyes flash at Medic with an excited spark. A barely-there smile on his full lips. “Maybe there’s slipped tendon or something.”_

_You don’t feel the need to explain that it’s not how it works. Two can play this game._

Cheetah’s up, groaning in pain. His wound has reopened, bandages soaking through. Medic changes it and stays by his cot, massaging his shoulder to soothe the pain.

_“Say, Medic,” Miller leans in as he puts a band-aid on his perfectly good hand. “You ever have a break?”_

After a while, Cheetah’s whimpering fades, breathing stabilizes. Medic’s back is sore and he walks around the ward, stretching.

_“I do, sometimes,” Medic mutters. Miller is drilling him with curious, almost amused gaze. He smells so nice. Did his thumb just stroke Medic’s wrist?_

He sits at his desk, face down his crossed arms. Maybe if he closes his eyes just for a minute...

_Miller’s arm winds around Medic’s waist before he can blink. His lips are soft but eager, kissing him with deep longing. He’s fierce, with passionate tongue and avid hands. It’s hot; coconut scent settles in Medic’s nostrils and he holds his breath, kissing back, afraid to frighten off his luck._

When he startles awake, the sun is glaring into the tent. Patients are waiting: complaining, calling up. There’s a big red apple on top of his desk and a small note in neat, curved handwriting:

_Good morning!_


	6. thunder boyfriends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> artwork: https://slaviiik.tumblr.com/post/168959063445/figured-its-okay-to-post-these-right

They’d always been together. At some point soldiers stopped whispering. In canteen, at every meeting, in the halls or outside: where colonel Volgin went, Raikov followed.

Ivan Raidenovitch didn’t look like a loyal dog, though. Devoted was accurate, but rather a cat. A cat who walked by himself.

The odd thing was how soothing his presence was for Yevgeny Borisovitch. His short temper had never been a bowl of cherries, but whenever Raikov lay his gloved hand on the mad colonel’s giant shoulder, he simmered down. No one else was allowed to do this.

The only times Volgin laughed were when Ivan would tell him an anecdote. His gaze would go so soft, wrinkles smoothening as he smiled and called him _My Vanechka_ in a tender voice. Ivan always smiled back, pleased with himself.

Some nights they were loud, some quiet. Ivan arched in Volgin’s arms, peering into his worshipping eyes from above. Stroked his short, coarse hair. And Volgin, usually so immense, would curl onto his chest, embracing his lover like something precious and fragile.

All in all, Ivan Raikov was the only person who could bring peace to colonel Volgin.


End file.
